


An Anytime Invitation

by laratoncita



Series: This Town I Live In [6]
Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drunken Shenanigans, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Mexico, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: Matamoros, 1973. Izzy Mathews is sweating through a dress at a wedding in Mexico. She thinks there’s a joke somewhere in that statement.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Steve Randle/Original Character(s)
Series: This Town I Live In [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310054
Kudos: 10





	1. el matrimonio

"It's too fucking hot," Izzy says. Ponyboy shushes her, eyes on the pulpit like he's a good Catholic and not the Protestant child the late Mrs. Curtis liked best. Izzy was around back then, and as someone with limited investment in Curtis affairs she can safely declare Ponyboy the favorite of the family, which no doubt fed into the tension that remained when Darry ended up with custody.

Soda is sitting with Steve and Lisa, having already stolen their child from them, baby Selina barely six months old and obsessed with her godfather. Lisa's got a fan in hand, off-white, and has been aggressively fanning herself since the service started. It's September, summer heat still sticky, and the younger Bernal sister—Izzy's best friend—is getting married in a pantsuit to some man whose greased back hair looks better than even Soda's used to, back when that was still the style.

The service is all in Spanish, which only makes things even more confusing, as Izzy hasn't been to a Christian church service since before her daddy left, to say nothing of whatever Catholics get up to. Lately Izzy's been heading to Temple, trying to make sense of the history her mother left behind when she fled Crete.

Vicky looks like a knock-out today, not that that's any different than usual. Izzy arrived in Matamoros three days ago, found her looking like a _moll_ , a word that she only knows because of Ponyboy's brief obsession with the 1920s back when they were still kids who hung out. Well, more like were pushed together because their brothers wanted to play and their mothers forced them to tag along. Izzy's not sure if Ponyboy's the reason Vicky's a socialist or if it's the other way around, but either way, she still hasn't gotten to Sartre.

She's also not sure how they got Vicky's veil pinned correctly; her hair looks only half-combed, like they had to give up in order to get to the ceremony on time. Her cream-colored pant-suit— _Not one'a these guests is gonna believe I'm a virgin, Izzy_ —must be the only thing she's wearing, besides her shoes; Izzy's a little concerned that if she turns the wrong way she'll be flashing the whole church. Vicky, busy grinning widely at her soon-to-be-husband, some mafioso that Izzy met the day she arrived, doesn't seem too concerned.

Seems like that's always been Vicky and Izzy. _Izzy and Vicky_. The latter once memorably offered to drive them home from a concert so that Izzy could drop acid with a boy she would go on to date for six months. That Izzy had a history test the next day—one she barely passed, which was better than expected considering her hangover—was of little concern. If either of them were going to marry a mobster, Izzy thinks privately, it was going to be Vicky.

That she, herself, has just broken up with her own drug-dealing beau is of little concern.

 _You want a new honey, honey?_ Vicky asked, two days ago over breakfast, drinking champagne and orange juice with her décolletage adorned by an expensive looking emerald necklace, _mi marido has friends_.

Vicky's Spanish ain't ever been good. Izzy's got some idea of how that affected the beginning of her friend's now-marriage, even if she's been calling Nico de la Cruz her _marido_ since about three months after she left Tulsa.

She was gone not two weeks after graduation. Lisa was gearing up for her own move, having just earned her degree and fixing to start work at UT-Austin as a recruiter. It's the seventies, after all; plus she's been organizing with the movement since she got to Chicago, and from Izzy's understanding it's bigger down in Texas, out West even more of a building ground for all the Chicano folks—Mexican-Americans, Vicky explained—living there for generations.

Either way, Lisa's efforts to get her sister to go with her were moot. While she was packing up her stuff, _and_ Steve Randle, Vicky quietly slipped away to Brownsville and then Matamoros, moving in with the aunts that raised Lisa and commuting across the border for work at some bar that served Mexicans and Americans alike.

It was there that she met Nico, at least that's what Izzy's been told. Apparently he knows her _tío_. It wasn't until later that Izzy made several important connections; the most important were that old man Bernal only had sisters, wasn't from Matamoros originally, and the man that Lisa Bernal called _tío_ worked with Isaiah Solis. Isaiah just so happens to be the man _her_ former man works for, the same one who she broke up with three weeks before this wedding, when they got into an argument about how he was on probation and couldn't leave the state, let alone the country.

He said it was easier to ask forgiveness than it was permission; it triggered a whole fight that blew up in both their faces. Izzy told him she wasn't fixing to be anything like Vicky anytime soon, and hadn't spoken to him since. In retrospect, she feels guilty. She loves Vicky like she would a sister. That doesn't mean she wants to be married to a drug peddler, not that that particular fact had stopped her from hopping into bed with Mikey Abreu, better known as _el Chiquis_ , last August after a night of dancing.

Izzy's young and stupid. She'll say it 'til she's blue in the face

The priest says something and then everyone stands up again, one of the Bernal aunts darting forward to remove a crystal lasso from around the couple. Izzy's lost track of how many times they've been instructed to stand and then sit; she's been following Lisa's cues, since she's still actually Catholic. Izzy received a photograph of Selina in what she believes is called communion garb not too long ago. She's still not positive Catholics are Christians like Protestants are, but she's too afraid to ask. The priest marrying the happy couple today does not seem friendly enough to explain it to her, besides the obvious language barrier.

Said couple turns slightly, and a small child in a blush dress twice as wide as she is high walks up to them with an equally oversized bouquet of Castilian roses. They take it to an alter set apart from where the priest is standing; behind him is a massive baptismal font. Lisa had explained this all to her as they ran around trying to find the bride that morning. She showed up with blown pupils and a runny nose, and Lisa had threatened to call off the whole wedding if she didn't get her act together. Vicky had responded that it was only a bump, and then Lisa had to go sit in the confessional to breastfeed Selina while Izzy tried to keep Vicky's tits from making their own appearance.

She can't remember the name of the saint they're offering flowers to, but she can see the little parts of the painting that make it seem like there's a man holding up a massive tapestry of a pale woman surrounded by roses. Her head is tilted downwards, eyes hooded, and her smile feels vaguely menacing. Now, more than ever, Izzy thinks it might be time for her to return to her roots, though she thinks Rabbi Abram might get a kick out of the full story of Vicky Bernal's wedding. Vicky Cruz. De la Cruz? She doesn't know how it works down here.

She whispers to Ponyboy, "Is that the Virgin Mary?"

"No," he says, and then, "actually. Maybe?"

Lisa turns around and gives them both severe looks. Izzy will not admit to cowering. Soon enough Vicky and the man that may or may not be her husband now are back in front of the priest, who says a few more things, and then something that sounds very final. The Mister and Missus turn, hand in hand, to beam at their audience. Someone starts clapping, probably Soda, and soon everyone else is too.

Izzy leans against Ponyboy. "What was the lasso for?"

"I'm not Catholic," he says, and then they get swept up in the crowd following the newlyweds outside of the church. Izzy's not sure who's related to who or if these are just friends. She sees an older looking man catch Lisa with a gentle hand at her shoulder, and her face lights up like she's never seen it do before.

Izzy knows he won't know, but she asks Ponyboy another question. "Is that their uncle?"

He looks at her funny. "Their old man don't got any brothers."

"I hate you," she says, not for the first time. That would have been back in '60, when she and Ponyboy were stuck together at the Mathews' place, on account of the two of them plus Two-Bit had caught chickenpox and Mr. Curtis had never had it, so Mrs. Curtis didn't want to risk him getting sick. Ponyboy was unbearably dramatic about it, moaning on the couch while Izzy sat on the floor next to him, a large bowl of ice water in her lap that she would periodically splash onto her arms, chest, and face to soothe the itching. Her mother didn't even yell at her about the mess. She says, still clutching his arm, "And I _know_ they only got aunties. But I think that's the _uncle_ that Lisa set Solis up with, back in sixty-seven."

He doesn't look any more impressed. "You think I pay attention to that stuff?"

"You are _so_ useless," she says, before they're interrupted.

"Bien guapos," an older woman says as she passes by, her skin brown and wrinkled, and Izzy knows just enough Spanish to know she's grossly misinterpreted her relationship to the youngest Curtis boy. She much prefers Sodapop, not that this woman in crinoline and a flower-shaped hat needs to know that.

"Gracias," she says, accent worse than Vicky's, and then drags Ponyboy over to where Steve and Soda are gossiping like schoolgirls. "Did y'all understand any of that?"

"Nope," Steve says, shifting Selina from one arm to the other. She's babbling to herself, tugging on Steve's tie. No doubt he's the one who got her dressed, her little bow crooked like it hasn't been tied correctly. Then again, Lisa practically raised Vicky, and not once has Izzy ever seen her with her hair done right. Maybe it's a Bernal thing.

"It was a nice service," Soda offers. Izzy ignores him.

"Who's the guy your wife is talking to?" Izzy asks Steve, and he makes a face.

"We're not married," he says, and it sounds like a complaint. Vicky told her, last time they were on the phone, that Steve's been getting antsy. Thinks it looks bad that he and Lisa ain't married yet, even though they're saving up for a house and got a baby together, born almost exactly nine months after they moved to Austin. Izzy's always been good at math. "Her uncle, she said. I met him last week, when we got down here."

Lisa, of course, showed up early to make sure that Vicky had everything she needed. That, or maybe steal her back across the border before she could marry Nico. Izzy can't even blame her; she about had a heart attack, when Vicky called her three months ago to say there was a shiny new rock on her finger and to clear her schedule for August and September, _there's gonna be a wedding to celebrate_. Just like Vicky to demand two months of Izzy's attention; if they were still living in the same city it probably would've worked, too.

Izzy reminds him that old man Bernal doesn't have sisters, and he looks confused. He says, uneasy, "Cousins, then? Maybe from Ciudad Victoria." He says it with an accent better than Izzy's. She's only a little miffed.

"I don't think so," she starts to say, but then Lisa swoops back in, dress swaying like she's been dancing and not catching up with someone who Izzy suspects is something like a kingpin. It's a nice dress, too—pistachio, looks good against the warm brown of Lisa's skin, the sleeves lace and floaty when she moves. Steve immediately puts his arm around her waist, and she smiles up at him. Still itty bitty, even if she's wearing chunkier heels than either Izzy or Vicky ever liked.

"My tío says hi," she tells him, and then she reaches out for Selina. She says to the rest of them, bouncing baby in her arms, "How'd y'all like the service?"

"It was nice?" Ponyboy says, echoing Soda's earlier sentiment, who nods along with him.

She raises an eyebrow. "Y'all go say congrats yet?"

"They're kinda swamped," Soda says, amused, "you ain't talked to her, either."

Lisa's answering smile is thin; Izzy knows that she probably won't be congratulating her sister on getting married, and it's not because she's jealous she did it first. Their morning argument was not the first time Lisa threatened to get the wedding canceled, even if she had nothing to do with organizing or paying for it. Two days before, during dinner, the sisters had gotten into it, Lisa practically shouting that her soon-to-be brother-in-law must be running dope across the border, to have earned enough money for the gaudy ring that sits pretty on Vicky's finger, now. It's massive, a pearl surrounded by diamonds all around, looking too heavy for her hand and the slightest bit tacky. To say Vicky loves it is an understatement.

Obviously the argument hadn't don't anything to dissuade Vicky, who had loudly announced, _He works with tío Juan, what's the problem?_ and then had a _criada_ bring out flan for dessert. Izzy had quietly eaten three servings and then passed out in a cold sweat.

"I need to feed the baby," Lisa says, even though said baby is content to play with the sleeves of her dress, and then turns to look at Steve meaningfully.

He sighs. "I'll go with you," he says, and they say their goodbyes and head to where their car is parked, no doubt so Lisa can complain without risking one of the guests hearing her, or worse, Vicky.

"They'll be back, right?" Ponyboy asks as they watch the small family walk away from them. Soda shrugs, and when they turn back to the still bustling crowd of folks in formal wear, full of brand new cowboy hats and leather hide boots, Vicky's spotted them. She throws herself at the nearest Curtis boy, which happens to be Soda, who has no sense of survival and thinks picking her up and spinning her is appropriate. Izzy feels a little sick.

"Mrs. Cruz!" he says, and then pauses. "Is it Cruz now?"

"Señora Victoria Bernal de la Cruz," she says, carefully enunciating, and beams. Izzy reaches out to adjust her jacket. The gold necklace she's wearing has a massive jewel-encrusted sun hanging off it, topaz maybe. She feels a little hysterical just imagining the price. "Y'all okay? I know it was kinda long."

"That's Catholics for you," Soda says cheerfully, like he has any idea what he's talking about, and Izzy and Ponyboy both squint at him.

"It's true," Vicky says, like she ever went to services back in Tulsa. Her Texan accent is stronger, now that she's been down here so long. "I had to take all'a them classes after Nico proposed, since my daddy didn't bother sendin' me to Confirmation ones up in Tulsa."

Izzy nods, because the words sound vaguely familiar, like something a gaggle of her girlfriends had to do themselves back in middle school. Not her, though, odd one out for more than just her red hair. Vicky hadn't seemed too concerned about it, either; maybe that's why they first got along. Izzy can't quite remember anymore.

"Where's the reception again?" Soda's still got his hand on Vicky's waist. It reminds Izzy of her and Vicky's senior year of high school, when Soda left the DX and started working at the theater with Izzy. He manages the kitchen now, which she still struggles to wrap her head around; Soda's prone to boredom, though perhaps there's more drama behind the concession stand than she realized, having been out front selling tickets for the near three years she worked there. It was sometime after Ponyboy broke Vicky's heart that Soda started hanging out with them regularly, perhaps because he felt guilty or perhaps to avoid Darry.

It was a busy winter, now that Izzy's thinking about it. Ponyboy flunked out of OSU and then congratulated Izzy's acceptance to the University of Tulsa like she had any money to go there. In the aftermath, she and Vicky drove out to Stillwater for a week to visit the acid-dealing boy Izzy was dating at the time, spent five days stoned and then arrived in time for New Years' Eve, when Lisa and Darry tore each of them new ones.

Izzy was not impressed by the lecture Darry gave her, on account of Two-Bit probably would have found it funny, and she didn't mince words when she told the oldest Curtis to get bent before marching across the street to her own house. Lisa she would apologize to later; in the mean-time, she was exhausted.

Two-Bit _did_ find it funny, anyway, when he got home a few months later, only a little worse-for-wear. He drank worse than before for a long while, but Izzy likes to think he's doing better now. He, for one, has taken advantage of the GI Bill, which isn't something she or anyone else expected. So far he's undeclared; no doubt he'll take six years to finish this degree, too.

"Oh, at my tío's," Vicky says, and Izzy knows she must blanche from the way Ponyboy looks at her, concerned. "'S real nice, lots of land out back. Maybe fifteen minutes drivin' from here, if you head East on the next street over."

Soda nods, as if he's intimately familiar with Matamoros already. Knowing him, he probably is; the three of them—Soda, Ponyboy, and Izzy—drove down together, knocked it out in one long afternoon that stretched well into night. It was hellish, and she's not looking forward to the trip back up. Already there are a few girls watching him and Ponyboy alike, dressed up real pretty in pastel dresses with their shoulders and legs on display. Izzy's about the same, in a green flower-print dress that her mother had picked up and that Izzy hadn't had the heart to exchange for a different one.

Vicky said her tits looked great, anyway. It's a compliment she would have offered sober, too, so Izzy's running with it. Mikey can eat his heart out for all she cares.

"How's old man Bernal doing, anyway?" Soda asks, and Vicky rolls her eyes.

"You ain't gonna believe this," she says, which means none of them will be surprised, "but he went and found hisself a fourth wife."

"Nah," Soda says, even if his eyes are wide with amusement, "you telling me he got shacked up soon as y'all left town?"

" _We_ did not leave town," she corrects him. Her eyes finally look normal again. Her tone sours as she keeps speaking. "I ran off 'fore Lisa could drag me to Austin and not two months later my daddy's back in _Ciudad Victoria_."

"That the first wife then?" Ponyboy says, and Izzy blinks at the reminder. Vicky's namesake, the city their folks abandoned for Matamoros and then, later, good ol' Texas and Oklahoma. Not like they stuck around that long, though, both sisters prone to bouncing between cities worse than Soda cartwheeling down Main Street.

"Nah," she says, glancing down at her carefully painted fingers—robin's egg blue. Izzy tries to remember what she borrowed for today, knows her suit is brand new and that the shoes are an old pair they picked up downtown during the last birthday they spent together. "New one, she's younger than even my ma is."

No one's made mention of Vicky's mother, who didn't show up and who as far as Izzy knows, Vicky didn't bother tracking down in the first place. Ponyboy shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder, but the bride seems as unbothered as she has been the last few days, despite what Izzy always thought about planning weddings, especially one this big. The church was packed, and already she can see guests craning their heads to get a good look at the bride, wild-haired as ever, in the arms of the handful of _gringos_ in town for the church service.

She wishes Lisa would come back, even if it would probably start another argument. Lucky for her Vicky says, "I gotta take photos now, but y'all can head back to our house if you wanna freshen up 'fore the party starts."

"Two hours," Soda says, exaggerating, and spins her in a hug again. It sets her laughing like Izzy's missed hearing, and she feels a pang at the thought of this being the longest stretch of time she'll spend with her best friend for a while. She curses the state of Texas for being so huge, too big to rationalize trips to see each other, not that she thinks Nico will let his wife out of his grip long enough for her to head back to Tulsa, anyway. Soda says, "See you soon, _Señora_ ," and tips an imaginary hat, and Vicky waves before spinning back into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up until i was thirteen i thought christianity was simply “catholics” and “not-catholics”, and while i fully blame my devout grandmother for this misunderstanding, i hope that explains izzy’s own interpretation. i wanted to title this killer queen but that seemed too heavy-handed
> 
> this fic is trying to retcon the now-deleted "dizzy" / "this town..." with some newer stuff 💛


	2. el baile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's for all my girls who miss bailes <3

Vicky lives on the outskirts of town, south of the church, in a little area called La Estrella. It's a big house, sprawling out towards a laguna, Vicky said, or maybe Izzy just misheard the name of the water she can see from the back patio.

"We got time for a siesta, ladies and gents," Soda says, bounding into the house comfortable as can be. Izzy kicks off her heels outside, takes the arm Steve offers her when he notices. He's got Lisa tucked under the other, the baby starting to doze already, her little ears glinting gold as the sun bounces off the tiny studs Lisa said she bought at the local _kermés_.

One of the maids—small, dark hair cut into a blunt bob, mole at the corner of her mouth—steps forward and says something to Lisa as they enter. They speak for a few moments, Soda and Ponyboy ducking into the kitchen, where Izzy hears another one of the workers ask them something. She knows her fruits: _fresa, piña, uva_. She can ask for water, or for rice, and receive a bright smile in response.

This is Nico's home; he speaks English with a _very_ strong accent and says he works in Brownsville half the year. Izzy can guess what that means, and she doesn't even need Lisa's puckered expression to figure it out. Either way, the house has guestrooms for the three of them who drove down from Tulsa. Lisa and Steve have been staying with her aunts, who live in two adjacent houses on the same slice of land closer to the border, the buildings low and painted a matching pink. She's a little surprised they came with them to the house, actually.

The maid nods, disappears back upstairs, and Lisa turns to Izzy. "You might wanna shower," she says, tucking Selina more securely against her. "Party'll last after midnight, might go through 'til sunrise. Nico's got a lotta friends and a lotta family."

Izzy blinks, says, "I only brought this one dress," and Lisa looks sad for her.

"Rough," she says, "I brought more'n two, but you and I ain't hardly the same size."

"Lis, I'm an Amazonian next to you," she says, because she ended up on the taller side, which she knows is a Mathews thing and not from her mother's line. Both her and Two-Bit take after their father. Izzy's not the only one who resents it.

"I'm aware," she drawls, "but you should shower anyway. Don't wanna be the dirty American when we head to dinner."

"Pretty sure they're still calling Vicky _americana_ ," Izzy says, because she's heard a couple variations since she got here, and not just directed towards her. For some reason one of the flower girls was calling her _canela_. She'll ask Lisa what it means later.

When she comes back downstairs Lisa's there already, baby latched onto her breast while she eats cubed watermelon. She wiggles her fingers at Izzy, who ducks into the kitchen and grabs some for herself, rather than wait for one of the maids to get her something. She expresses her discomfort when she sits down across from Lisa, who shrugs.

"'S just how folks with money are down here," she says, "my aunts ain't like this at all, but they used to do it across the border."

"They work over there while you was living with them?"

"Yup," she says, and takes another bite of her watermelon. "Used to help them, sometimes. They got paid by the day, back then."

"And now?"

"They got sons who work up North," she says, smiling. "You'll meet a couple'a them tonight. Dollar's a helluva lot more down here. 'Sides," she says, and her smile fades. "Vicky's husband sent 'em some nice gifts, before Vicky moved in with him. I'm sure Vicky'll send whatever they need if they ask."

Izzy nods, and when Selina finally finishes feeding offers to burp her for Lisa, who looks genuinely pleased at the offer.

"I'll be right back," she said, "I told Steve to shower, but Lord knows he probably went to sleep instead of gettin' dressed. Chances are he's in Soda's bed, too."

"You should sleep a little, too," Izzy says, but she knows neither of them will. She feels tense, bracing for a blow that may or may not arrive. Lisa's about the same, though she's sure the added stress of this being _her_ sister's wedding is even worse.

Sure enough, Lisa returns sans father of her child and Sodapop, though Ponyboy appears to have taken her advice and is wearing a different button-up than he was earlier.

"You're gonna sweat right through this," she's telling him, tugging on one of his sleeves at the bicep, "you want a guayabera? I'm sure there's a spare one somewhere in this house. Or we can pick one up for you on the way to my tío's."

"'S fine," he says to her, and she throws her hands up. Figures Lisa would try and go full mother hen on them today, Izzy thinks, even as she continues making funny faces at Selina. The one person who really needs it is has been ignoring her for ages.

Soon enough, though, it's time for the reception, and Lisa, despite her clear distaste, says she needs to be there exactly on time.

"No one'll show up early," she tells Izzy as she and newly-awake Steve walk out, "but odds are my aunties need help wranglin' either Vicky or my dad. Y'all can probably leave in the next half hour and be alright, I'd say."

"Sure," Izzy says, and not twenty minutes later she's in the passenger seat of the car, Soda's driving like a bat out of hell. She tries threatening him but it falls flat; her grip on the dashboard is clue enough that she ain't in control right now.

"Soda," Ponyboy says from the back, one hand on each of the seats in front of him, "who the hell're you racing?"

"Myself," Soda says, and then takes a sharp turn with a whoop, Izzy fervently hoping for a quick and painless death. Luckily for her they arrive at the _hacienda_ in no time, only then Izzy's staring in open-mouthed shock at the size of just the building, back in her heels and green dress. "You'll catch flies," Soda says, gently tapping her chin with two fingers, and she straightens up.

There are string lights in the bushes and trees that lead out to the back, dahlias in full bloom wherever Izzy turns. They're not early by any means—according to Vicky, the reception started half hour ago, but there's a steady stream of people barely arriving, even if it's still on par with the number of people at the church service. She can hear the sounds of live music, horns and guitars coalescing in the late afternoon sun. A fly buzzes in her ear and it barely distracts her.

Vicky, still in her pantsuit, is greeting her guests, Nico next to her with a glass in hand already. Izzy can see Lisa, in a red dress changed she into after showering at Vicky's, bustling around behind them as she and the Curtis boys approach, not that she turns when Vicky loudly greets them all, their brief conversation a few hours ago apparently already forgotten. Izzy hugs her back tightly, and then cuts behind them to grab Lisa.

"Is she high," she says, worried, and Lisa snorts.

"No," she says. Her expression is not promising. "I went through her shit and flushed it. My aunties had to separate us."

"Ah," Izzy says, because that's worse than a simple yes.

"I know," she responds, and then rolls her eyes. "Me and Steve got us a table, over towards the right, see? Behind my tía Pilar."

"Right," Izzy says, and cranes her neck. There are more people than she realized, and the smell of citronella and lemongrass is heady. "What color…?"

"Yellow dress," she says, "Steve's got the baby."

"Here I was thinking you handed her off to y'all's daddy," Izzy says, and then, "wait, is he even here?"

"Yup," Lisa says. Nothing about her suggests she's impressed with his presence. "Brought the new wife, too."

"He really married then? Didn't think Vicky was in the know."

"Nah," Lisa says, glancing over towards where Steve must be sitting, "dunno if they'll actually get married, since the Church don't let you do it more'n once. Pretty sure he lied to the priest when he married my ma. Not sure about Vicky's."

Izzy hums. She catches sight of Steve, pacing around a table that Soda and Ponyboy appear to be approaching, and tells Lisa she'll see her later. The older Bernal seems more relaxed, now. No doubt one her aunts calmed both of them down before the guests arrived; how they managed that is not her business. Izzy's not sure how they're all supposed to last through the night.

"Ready for the show?" Soda says when she arrives, and she makes a face at him, takes a seat next to the empty one that Steve is clearly saving for Lisa.

"I think we need drinks first," she says, and Steve smirks a little.

"Check the chair," he says, nodding at the seat between them, and sure enough finds a bottle with a worm at the bottom underneath it.

She says, "Your wife bring this? Thought she wasn't drinking right now."

"She ain't," Steve says, gaze jumping over towards the back part of the house, where his pseudo-father-in-law has finally made an appearance, "I figure between her daddy and the missus, though, she'll need it."

"You tell her that?" Soda sounds way too amused. Figures he's having a good time; already Izzy can see him returning the interested looks of a few of the girls sitting nearby.

"Only good thing about Vicky marrying rich," Steve starts, instead of answering, "is that they got a lot of people to send out for powdered milk."

"Lisa's 'bout to have you sleeping on the floor tonight," Soda says, jovial, and then, "alright, let's get to drinking," and reaches over to take the bottle from Izzy.

By the time Lisa gets there, Izzy and Soda are two shots in, Ponyboy carefully sipping his own serving. Selina's wide awake and content to watch them all with dark, serious eyes while she mumbles to herself. She looks more like Steve than Lisa, but she's a real cute baby, and she perks up when her mother reappears.

"Hi, baby," Lisa says to her, leaning in to kiss her and then Steve hello. Izzy likes watching the two of them, even if it makes her feel a little bit like a peeping Tom. There's just something very fluid about how the two of them move around each other, the way they seem to speak without saying anything at all. Lisa takes Selina and then scoots her chair closer to Steve so he can drape an arm around them both. She says to Soda, "You should be followin' your brother's lead, sweetheart, mezcal is sipped, not tossed back."

Soda laughs, says, "Shit, you shoulda told us that when we walked in. How's your dad doing?"

Lisa makes a face, one that has even Ponyboy quirking a grin. "Don't," she scolds. She adjusts Selina against her and offers her a sliver of unseasoned avocado before speaking again. "He's fine. Said he'd come see the baby later." She gives Steve an unimpressed look. "He probably won't."

"Fine by me," Steve says, but squeezes her shoulder afterwards.

After dinner, before the first dance, there are toasts. Lisa, by virtue of being both Vicky's sister and fully bilingual, is stuck giving one on behalf of said bride. To say she's displeased is an understatement, though whether or not that reflects in what she says in her speech is beyond Izzy. All she can see is that a lot of folks seem to be smiling and laughing at what she's saying, so at least she isn't telling everyone about Vicky fucking half the guys out in Brumly back in high school. Maybe at her next wedding Izzy can give the toast.

By the time she's back at their table the first dance has started, and Lisa's mood hasn't been assuaged at all.

"You sounded nice," Izzy says, diplomatic. She's been sipping her third serving of mezcal, trying to pretend she doesn't already feel it. She wills the rice she's eaten to soak some of it up.

"I shoulda told them she used to fuck Curly Shepard," Lisa says, sour, and Ponyboy chokes on his drink.

Steve winces, says, "Lisa," and some sort of silent communication passes between the two of them. Izzy watches as Vicky and Nico step onto the dance floor, some slow song the mariachi band is belting out with what appears to be great passion. The couple sways together, Vicky's arms thrown over his shoulders, and her smile is blinding. Izzy takes a deep drink anyway.

Next to her, the shoulder strap of Lisa's dress slips down, and Steve half-heartedly adjusts it, clearly preferring the amount of skin she's got showing. Izzy, who has kissed exactly one girl and did not like it, the same girl who is now happily making out with her new husband on the dance floor while the guests watch, gets it if not on a carnal level then on an emotional one.

Lisa, despite her earlier claims about still breast-feeding, reaches out to grab a flute of champagne from one of the waiters that passes by. She says, catching Izzy's look, "I'll have one'a the girls go pick up some formula for me." She sniffs, gives Steve a dirty look that he misses while he continues to check-out her cleavage, "Someone might'a suggested it was a better idea."

"Tomorrow you'll be thanking me," Steve says, finally tuning back in to press a kiss to her cheekbone, "'specially when I let you sleep in and get the baby fed by myself."

"You've never made formula," Lisa drawls, "five bucks says you'll wake me up to ask if the temperature's right."

"I don't like your aunts' gas stoves," he says, defensive, but Lisa just rolls her eyes and downs half her glass.

They watch as the couple separates and then dances with their respective parents—Izzy didn't expect anything besides an awkward father-daughter dance, but Vicky appears surprisingly upbeat about it all. Old man Bernal never seemed too interested in what either girl was up to; that he refused to let Vicky move up to Chicago with Lisa might've been seen as a father unwilling to let go of his youngest. In reality, Vicky kept him fed and the house clean in between running around with local drug dealers. That she's marrying Nico is not really a surprise.

Something about Vicky's expression is disconcerting. She thinks back to how she looked in the morning, and then turns to Lisa. "Did you check Nico?"

"What?" Lisa is flagging down a waiter for more champagne, Steve and the boys conversing next to her. She raises an eyebrow at Izzy after, fresh flute in hand.

She takes a deep breath. "You flushed what Vicky was carrying. What about her husband?"

Lisa's face goes through what Izzy would hazard is every emotion known to man. When she speaks, her voice is steely: "No. I didn't." She knocks the entirety of her drink back before standing, arms straight out so she can hand Selina off. "Steve."

He looks up, surprised: "What are you doing?"

"I have to make my sister a widow," she says, and Steve goes, "What? No," and tries to tug her back down. Vicky and old man Bernal step off the dancefloor, and the mariachi switches over to a livelier song than the ones they were playing. As Steve and Lisa argue, the latter still brandishing their child around, couples begin to drift towards the music.

Soda leans back, nearly hanging off his chair when he says, "Hey, Mathews. You know how to dance to this?"

Izzy glances from him to the mariachi, tries to make out the music over the sound of people moving. It's a norteña, she realizes, says, "Yeah," and ends up pulled out of her chair.

There are a lot of couples dancing already, the younger ones holding each other tightly while they spin across the dance floor. Soda says, grinning as they step into the throng, "That looks fun."

"Hold your horses, cowboy," she says, even as he tugs her closer and notches their hips together the way some of the other dancers' are. She feels heat rise to her face, and hopes he doesn't ask her how she knows the dance steps. Vicky does, too, and probably Lisa, all things considered. It's not like Izzy running around in Brumly should be a surprise.

Their knees knock together, and Soda hums, eyebrows pulled together. "How's it go again?"

"Like this," Izzy says, knows she must be bright pink when she adjusts his leg so that it's caught between both hers. "It's like a back-and-forth step, you see? Look at them over there."

It's an older couple she's pointed out, not so much spinning as they are circling slowly, slowly across the dance floor, hips barely touching. Next to them there's a girl in a slip of a dress, periwinkle blue, whose sweetheart kisses her neck before setting them to spinning.

Soda says, "Can you do that?"

"Let's get the basics down," she says, "I ain't fixing to crack my head open if you throw me while we're tryna dance."

Soda laughs, and soon enough falls into step, even if Izzy has to keep reminding him not to speed up. "Them other couples are having a great time," he tells her, because it's clear they are, the girls giggling as their partners get them twirling faster than twisters.

Izzy shrugs, says, "Dunno why they're going so fast, this song's too slow for how much they're spinning," even as Soda successfully gets them to twist together in a circle. His thigh is firmly between hers, and she carefully fixes her gaze over his shoulder rather than acknowledge it.

"Is it?" he asks, and then the question she was dreading: "Where'd you learn this, huh?"

"Brumly," she says.

"You spend an awful lotta time out there."

She hums, affirmative. Her fingers dig into his shoulder when he does another tight spin, one foot coming off the ground completely despite her efforts. "Soda," she hisses, even as they fall back into step besides the other couples, and all he does is grin at her.

"'S fun," he tells her, "whoever taught you must'a been a good dancer."

"If you wanna know," she drawls, like she doesn't care one way or another, or maybe like she's not thinking of the man who taught her the steps anyway, "just _ask_ , Curtis."

"You gonna tell me?"

"Mikey," she says after a moment, voice carefully neutral, "el Chiquis, they call him."

"He's one'a Isaiah's, ain't he?" he says, and they spin again as she nods. She's not sure why he's on first-name basis with Solis. "You still seeing him?"

"No," she says, knowing how petulant she sounds, "broke up a few weeks ago."

Soda makes a _tsk_ sound, and then the band starts playing a _bolero_ , the two of them slowly coming to a stop. He says, "You shoulda let me spin us more," and she smacks his shoulder.

"You'd've thrown us off the dancefloor," she scolds, but lets him lead her back towards their table. Only Lisa, Steve and the baby are there when they arrive.

"Where's Ponyboy?" Soda asks, not sounding the least bit concerned. He tops off Izzy's glass, barely a swallow left, and then pours himself another. Izzy's pretty sure he's on drink number four, too.

"Left for a smoke," Steve says, eyebrows implying something other than a cigarette. He and Lisa quit at the same time, when they found out they were going to have Selina. Steve said he was in the best shape of his life over coffee last night, and Lisa had just grinned at him, nothing like the sour expression on her face now. It seems Steve's finally accepted Selina, too, now playing with a toy that they must have brought her and content in her father's arms.

"Jackass," Izzy says unthinkingly, and then, defensive when they all turn to her in surprise, "oh come on, like me and Vicky wasn't smoking up every spare second we got, 'fore she left town. Soda, you was there, too."

"Dunno what you're talking about, Mathews," he says, taking a pointed sip of his mezcal, "I'm here for some good wholesome family fun."

"Your dancin' didn't say that, hon," Lisa says, hiding a smirk behind another flute of champagne. "Think plenty'a girls'll want a turn with you." Izzy feels herself flush again, and she reaches out, takes too big of a gulp from her drink and has to hide her coughing. Lisa offers her own glass, says, "Champagne?"

Izzy waves her off. "How much you had to drink, anyway?"

"This is four," she says, tilts her head up a little bit. It makes her look haughty. "Ain't as strong as mezcal, though, darlin', you might wanna take it easy."

"Right," Izzy says, and reaches over to where Ponyboy must have been drinking what she's vaguely sure is hibiscus. "Steve, you drinking tonight?"

"Nah," he says, wiggling his fingers at Selina, who ignores him. He frowns a little, but then he catches Lisa smiling at him and his expression softens. "Driving us all home, later."

"Shit," Izzy says, "Soda, how're we supposed to get back if all of us are drinking?"

"Pony's not."

"He's smokin' mota out back with my cousins," Lisa says drily, and then shakes her head at Izzy. She puts her glass down carefully, like she's afraid it'll spill despite the table being cleared out in front of her already. She probably hasn't had alcohol since the summer before, long before Selina's birth. Izzy doesn't see this ending well for Steve. "Y'all can have one of the _camareros_ drive you, my tío won't mind. Let me ask."

Steve reaches out, curls his fingers around her elbow, gentle, when she tries to stand. "We'll ask later," he says, "night's still young, anyway." Izzy squints at his watch, and when he notices he checks it for her. "Half past eight," he tells her, and she feels her eyebrows go up.

"We've been here that long?" she says, trying to do the math again and giving up halfway through. The service took forever, and there was time in between that and the reception, and then for dinner to start…the sun has set already, and without her realizing, the waiters and other workers have gone around lighting up candles everywhere, everything awash in a soft, comforting glow. It's breathtaking, and she stares out over the sea of tables and people to admire the way the whole house seems to glow.

"Yup," Lisa says, reaching for her drink again. Izzy considers hers, makes a face. She really doesn't want to drink it, glances across the table to see Soda leisurely sipping his own. Next to him, Ponyboy's glass is empty; if she's remembering right, he only had two.

She reaches for her still-untouched glass of water, instead, glances over at Steve. He's watching Lisa a little more seriously, now, but before he can say anything Ponyboy comes back, clearly post-smoke session, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Izzy can't blame him—the heat is still sticky, no matter that the sun's set already.

Soda, for his part, looks thrilled. "Having fun, kiddo?"

Ponyboy gives him an unimpressed look that does nothing, considering how red his eyes are. "'M alright," he says, voice rougher than when he left, and sits down heavily, reaches for his own water. Izzy hands over her mezcal, says, "Here, I don't want it," and he just looks at her. "Izzy," he says, like he's chewing on it, "you think I can handle this right now?"

"You're embarrassing me, Pony," Soda says, but all it gets him is an eyeroll.

"Later," he tells them both, but takes the drink from her anyway. "Oh look, Vic's coming by," he says, only for Vicky to immediately throw herself at him, half in his lap by the end of it. Mezcal sloshes over the rim of the glass, but Ponyboy manages to hold onto drink and bride alike.

"Hey!" she says, grinning. Her pupils are blown. Lisa puts the champagne flute to her mouth and doesn't put it down until it's empty. She clears her throat afterwards. Vicky says, still cheerful, "Good champagne, right?"

"Right," Lisa says. She goes tense when Vicky leans over to peer at the baby. She's starting to look sleepy; Vicky's expression goes soft at the sight, and she reaches out to gently adjust the bow in her hair.

"Your ma dress you, or was it dad?" she coos, and then straightens up, still half in Ponyboy's lap. He looks simultaneously bewildered and resigned.

Soda says, "Your husband gonna mind you crawling all over Ponykid, Vicky?"

"Nah," she says, waving one hand flippantly before finally dropping into her own chair. "We're about to do the money dance."

Lisa squints at her. "Shouldn't you've done that earlier? 'Fore the dancefloor opened?"

Vicky shrugs. "Dunno," she says, and flashes that Bernal smile they share. "I ain't gotten married 'fore today."

Lisa swallows. Looks around, maybe looking for Nico or for another waiter. When she finds none she says, "That sounds fun," and then stands and says, "Bathroom," before disappearing.

"Fuck," Steve says under his breath, and immediately Selina starts to fuss.

Vicky tries to reach for her but Soda cuts in, says, "Tell me 'bout this money dance," and while she's distracted, Izzy takes over.

"I'll go get her," she says, and leaves as soon as Steve's nodded, already knowing where this is going.


	3. el golpeo

Lisa's in the kitchen with a shot in her hand. Next to her is her father, her tío, and her new brother-in-law, among others.

"Quieres?" says the latter, and she accepts it for lack of a response. She seals her lips tightly over the glass, and when she puts it down makes sure it's far from their view—she's cutting herself off for the night. Odds are Steve'll need someone to help him get his not-wife home. Nico, recognizing her as Vicky's friend, maybe because she's clearly an American and redheaded to boot, starts introducing her to a few of the people around them, and from the corner of her eye Izzy sees Lisa and her father speaking.

"Mucho gusto," she says, another of the few phrases she can manage in Spanish, and the man shaking her hand smiles warmly.

He's the best man, she realizes, black cowboy hat on his head. He says, accent not as strong as Nico's, "I saw you dance. You are very good."

"Thank you," she says, and then excuses herself as Lisa ducks out of the kitchen and into the adjacent dining room. She can feel his eyes on her, even if the lights are off there. She says, " _Lisa_ ," as she follows.

"Bathroom," Lisa repeats, and Izzy has to follow the sound of her voice, steps slow and shuffling to avoid tripping over anything. So far her shoes haven't bothered her; it would be just her luck to get knocked down trying to keep up with Lisa.

She doesn't bother closing the door behind her when she steps into the bathroom, which Izzy takes as an invitation to follow. It's spacious, with plenty of counterspace and yellow lights rather than white. There's a massive mirror opposite the counters, which Izzy thinks is uncomfortable for whoever's trying to get their business done. Lisa clearly doesn't need to, anyway. She's scrubbing at her hands and mouth while Izzy looks around the room, less gaudy than Vicky's place, the kind of richness that comes from careful purchases rather than a desire to flaunt them all.

Izzy says, finally tearing her eyes away from the sight they make in the mirror—sweaty despite nightfall, the curls she'd coaxed into her hair long gone, Lisa looking exhausted and angry to boot: "You alright?"

Lisa's expression is unimpressed. "You really askin' me that, sweetheart?"

"Sorry," she says, and means it. She can't imagine how it might feel. She had to leave Vicky behind because old man Bernal said so, came back on and off for four years and never got a handle on her again. Vicky, left to her own devices, is prone to bad behavior. Back in Tulsa it wasn't all that bad, Izzy thought. No worse than what their siblings got up to, smoking weed with a flavor of the week or, just as often, either of the younger two Curtis boys.

Brownsville—or maybe Matamoros, or Nico, or maybe they're all one and the same—did something to Vicky that makes Izzy ache. Maybe it made her into something new, or maybe it brought something old back out. She knows her best friend. She knows this is probably the happiest night of her life. But she also knows that she showed up to her own wedding high. It makes something sour settle in Izzy's stomach, something besides the liquor she was drinking earlier. She wonders where this life is going to take Vicky, and feels fear.

Lisa says, "I shouldn'ta let her do this."

"You ain't the boss of her, Lis," Izzy says, and despite the severe expression on Lisa's face, holds her own: "I know her as good as you do. She does whatever she wants whenever she wants to. Always has."

Lisa shakes her head. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. Izzy doesn't think she's ever seen her like this—in varying shades of content, perhaps, or severe when scolding Vicky, but not this. Maybe motherhood made her softer, more vulnerable, or maybe it's watching her sister tie herself to a man like the kind she spent years trying to get out from under. Izzy can't say.

They say nothing for several long minutes, Lisa obsessively rewashing her hands while the music shifts into something more upbeat. Finally, when it begins to wind down, Izzy says, "C'mon. Let's head back out," and leads them back towards the kitchen.

Vicky's got her own flute of champagne in hand when they get there. In her other, there's a glass of something golden; probably more tequila. She smiles beatifically. "You missed the dance," she says, and when Izzy glances at the clock set near the window she realizes they were gone much longer than intended, maybe. Or maybe not, based of Lisa's expression. She's disappointed to have missed it, really; she wanted to know what the money dance was, too.

Something about Lisa's voice doesn't sound right. "Did Steve dance with you?"

"Yeah," Vicky says, "you tell him it was okay to give me ten bucks? Everyone else had ones. 'Cept for tío and a couple'a his friends."

"Yeah," Lisa says, and Izzy turns her head. Things move slowly, suddenly, and she's not sure if it's the mezcal. "I told him ten. Said you might need it."

"Why?"

Lisa shrugs. Her eyes are huge and dark, and she looks like Vicky does in this light. Same mouth, same shade of nearly black iris, the shape of their face more similar than ever. Izzy's known them long enough to see the resemblance every time she looks either of them. Vicky used to say they only shared a smile.

"Veracruz is nice," Lisa says instead.

"Hope so," says Vicky, and offers Lisa the champagne she's holding. She says, "Let's toast," like Izzy isn't there, and it worries her more than offends. She watches, can feel herself fade into the background, or otherwise become another piece of art that adorns their _tío_ 's respectfully ornamental home. Lisa's nails are filed into rounded rectangles, painted a nude shade just barely lighter than her skin. Vicky's are sharper, an orange-red that clashes with her lipstick, now reapplied from when she was kissing her husband on the dance floor.

Lisa says, "Salud," and downs her sixth drink. Vicky makes a face at the taste of her shot, but smiles at Izzy afterwards, apparently not having forgotten her.

For a brief, beautiful moment, Izzy thinks this is the end of it. That Lisa will let her walk her back to their table, where she can rest her head on Steve's shoulder, maybe, or drink some water, or maybe be convinced to dance and celebrate alongside the rest of the guests. Izzy forgets they're Bernals.

Lisa says, one hand resting on the counter, half a kiss smeared onto her champagne glass, "You gonna be some malandro's wife then, huh?" and Vicky blinks at her, face soft and curious for a split-second before her whole demeanor shifts.

Izzy's only seen her do that a handful of times, usually when a guy can't take a hint. Her stomach sinks.

She says, "One of us was always gonna, don'tcha think?" Her smile stings.

Lisa scoffs. "Who said that?" she says. She's leaning against the counter. Izzy tries to do the math: how many drinks in how many hours? How much had she eaten? Calling Lisa itty bitty isn't an insult; it's a fact, and she's got a six month old who still drinks breastmilk.

If she leaves now, Izzy knows, she won't get back in time to stop this train wreck in its tracks. Preventing it is not an option at this point.

"You wasn't always like this," Lisa says, and her voice cracks a little. Her fingers clench around nothing. "I shouldn'ta left you with dad."

"I'm not your kid," Vicky says, something startlingly final about the way she says it, "I ain't your responsibility. Never was."

The way Lisa laughs hurts. Izzy can feel it lodge itself in her stomach, heavy, uncomfortable. Lisa says, "Who you think you kiddin'? Who took care of you, huh? Who cooked for you, and cleaned, and took you to school and bought you all the things you needed?" She leans towards her sister, or at least tries to, clearly unable to balance all on her own. Her words come slow and methodical. "It wasn't my daddy. Wasn't your ma. Hell, it wasn't even Pilar or Chela. It was me." She leans back. Says, voice shaking, "It was _me_."

"So what?" Vicky says. She's leaning against the kitchen sink, the space between where she stands and Lisa a wide chasm that only grows the longer they look at each other. Izzy, still slightly behind Lisa, not quite in the dining room but close, isn't sure how she's supposed to navigate this. Vicky's switched tactics, it seems. The careful expression on her face is more like boredom but the moue of her mouth promises something else. It's the only crack in the façade that Izzy's spotted since she got here. Vicky shows everything on her face. Always has.

"You coulda gone to school," Lisa says, "or taken classes, I coulda found you someone to help with singin'—"

"I didn't want to," she says. She looks at her nails. There's a mean look in her eye when she fixes her gaze on Lisa, and Izzy doesn't have time to stop what's about to happen from happening: "Why're you upset, huh? You mad it ain't you gettin' married? Or is it 'cause you gotta work for a livin', baby with some burnout fucked over in 'Nam?"

Izzy doesn't gasp until Lisa's out of reach. She's little but she's fast, and she's strong, and she's got a lot of practice wrangling Vicky, no matter the years between now and the youth she _did_ spend raising Vicky, despite her sister's clear refusal to acknowledge it today.

She's also crazy about the man she won't marry. Izzy knows this even before she gets her hand in Vicky's hair and yanks.

"Qué _carajo_ —"

"Stop," Izzy says once, and then louder, " _stop_!"

Everything moves quickly; she wonders, desperately, if Steve can maybe sense the hell that his girl's about to unleash. Things get loud—both girls shouting at each other, a mixture of English and Spanish from the both, cuss words that Vicky taught Izzy in her bedroom when they'd smoke, bored on a Saturday night. Lisa won't let go of her hair, Vicky's fingers going tight around her wrist in an effort to break free even as she tries to shove her sister away.

Izzy wraps an arm around Lisa's waist and pulls, but all it does is drag both of them with her, even as Lisa's tone shifts into something less furious and more devastated, Izzy pretending she doesn't hear her shout, _Everything I did was for you!_ Instead she turns her head towards the still-open back door, arms wrapped around Lisa, and hollers, "Steve!" She doesn't know how to say help in Spanish. Doesn't want to risk someone else seeing the three of them, bride clearly in distress, and things getting blown out of proportion.

What's a catfight between sisters? Izzy's aware a wedding's not a good time. She wishes the Bernal girls knew that. She also hopes neither of them grab at the necklace she's wearing, because she took it from her mother without asking.

It's not Steve that arrives first, but Nico. The shot he took with Lisa, her father, and his handful of guests was clearly not his first, nor his most recent. But he doesn't do anything but jump towards his wife and try to pull her from Lisa's grasp, which Izzy can appreciate. On his heels are old man Bernal and, finally, Steve, who takes half a glance at the commotion and says, "Sonuva—"

Together, the four of them manage to separate the girls. It's not that they're inhumanely strong, but Izzy has to pry Lisa's fingers away from Vicky's head without the latter losing any hair, and then Steve has to quite literally carry her out of the kitchen and further into the house, towards the front entrance. She can hear Vicky's voice, high and desperate, and has to keep herself from following the sound.

"Where's Selina?" Izzy says, trailing after him, and Steve cusses. Lisa's still trying to get out of his grip.

"Ponyboy," Steve says, and then, "fuck, can you get her? And her stuff—Lisa, _don't_ —meet me by my car, will you? I knew we shouldn'ta—"

"She's not your sister," Lisa snaps, loud, and Izzy backs up into the kitchen before she can get caught up in another argument. No one's there, not even old man Bernal, who disappeared as quickly as he appeared; not much different than when he was still in Tulsa. Back then, Vicky was far more likely to end up at the Mathews' place than for the opposite to occur. He was a mechanic, too, worked two jobs, and after Lisa left it was Vicky's turn to do the cooking and cleaning and washing, which she did with minimal fanfare. That all her daddy required was a little bit of coddling meant that she could run wild with Mark Jennings, and then Curly Shepard, and then a variety of boys from Brumly, none of whom Izzy ever liked.

She finds Ponyboy nearly as soon as she walks out of the house, Selina in one arm, asleep, and the bag of her things that Lisa had brought with them in the other. He looks relieved to find her, says, "Where are they?" without any preamble.

"Leaving," Izzy says, and at his wide-eyed expression scoffs a little. "Not—they're _about_ to leave, c'mon, let's go around. Steve said to meet out near his car, and I don't wanna run into none of Vic's in-laws right now."

"What happened?" he asks, and Izzy reaches for the baby supplies rather than dislodge the child he's cradling. The path out front is empty, the party still busy despite what Izzy thought was a pretty significant commotion, not least of which because it included the bride yelling. Behind them, though, she can still hear the chatter of all those guests, even as the sound of crickets starts and stops as they make their way to the front yard.

She says, "They got into it," as they come to a pause near the front door. Izzy turns her head, can't see any sign of Steve or Lisa or their car, the streetlights a low glow that does nothing to help her. She can see there are lights on inside the house, though, and for a long minute she and Ponyboy are silent. When she speaks she says, "You shoulda just dated her when we were in high school."

"Izzy," he says, scolding, because it's an old argument, and not one that can change the past or present.

Vicky made her move on a bad day, in the middle of that hypnotic week that stretches between Christmas and New Year's. To say it ended badly is an understatement, and soon enough the two of them—Izzy and Vicky, Vicky and Izzy— ended up in Stillwater to see Izzy's then-boyfriend. The memories remind her of simpler times, before today. Today she's in a dress she doesn't like and waiting for Lisa and Steve to walk out of the former's _tio_ 's house, Ponyboy with a baby in his arms and the neighborhood alive with the sound of celebration all around them, but only if they listen hard enough.

"You broke her heart, y'know," she says, and tightens her grip on the bag she's holding. She can feel the round tin of formula one of the workers must have gone out to pick up for Lisa, marvels at how different it is down here, where their dollars go farther than they ever have in Tulsa.

Thinks, too, about all the different smiles she's seen on Vicky's face throughout the years, none of them like the ones she's seen today. Before this, she thought she knew Vicky better than she knew herself. She also thought that was more than enough to last them a lifetime. Now she's not so sure.

"She got over it," Ponyboy says. He sounds a little guilty. "She's married to someone else, ain't she?"

"You ain't regretting nothing?"

He's quiet for longer than she expects. "Think we all just want her happy, right? Ain't she your best friend?"

She takes a deep breath. They're standing close enough that she can smell the sour-sweet scent of mota underneath his cologne, fading fast as the night goes on. She focuses on that, and on his question, and what the answer really means.

Vicky's a knock-out and a socialist and her best friend. After this, she has no idea if she'll ever see her again. It makes something inside her curdle. She wouldn't call it hopelessness, but it's something very close. But before she can answer, the front door is opening, and out stumble Steve and Lisa, no longer arguing, but both of them looking very serious for once. Usually it's one or the other.

Steve says, "Thanks," even as Lisa leans towards Selina.

"I'll walk with you," Ponyboy says, and reaches for the bag Izzy took from him, which she hands over after a moment of hesitation. She watches them go, their shadows caught in a hypnotizing dance, and can see that Lisa's worse for wear. She wonders what Steve will be dealing with once they're back to her aunts, who've made it clear they're disappointed there ain't a ring on her finger. Finally, she turns away from them, back towards the party, and finds herself swept up in someone's arms as soon as she does.

It's the best man. He says, white teeth flashing as he smiles, "Y la novia?"

Izzy's almost sure that means girlfriend, but it might also mean bride. She says, putting her hands on his shoulders because there's not much else she can do as she gets tugged onto the dancefloor, "With her husband," and it makes him laugh.

"Y Lichita?" Izzy stares at him. For some reason, that makes him laugh again. "Her sister." He stretches his _i_ 's, comforting in its familiarity.

"Lisa?"

"Is that what she calls herself?" He stretches his vowels out, almost a song. "Her name is Alicia, no?"

 _Ah-lees-ya_. Izzy's never heard anyone call her that. She says, "Right," and lets him lead them in the fast-pasted merengue, the accordion a star like it's been all night.

"You like to dance?"

"Yeah," she says, and he spins her.

"Who taught you?"

She clears her throat. "Vicky."

He smiles. "You know her long time, yes?"

"She's my best friend," she says, and it hurts a little bit to admit. They finish the song together, and she manages to catch Soda's eye on the last spin.

"Pardon me," he says, and doesn't wait for a response before Izzy's in his reach again, the music slowing once more. He must notice her expression, because he says, shrugging, "You alright?"

"Sure," she says, because it could have been worse, even if she has to clear her throat again. "How much you had to drink, cowboy?"

"Not much more'n you," he says, almost smiling, and then, "where're the rest of them?"

"Steve's heading out with his girls," she tells him, the two of them expertly sidestepping a couple who are clearly enjoying themselves more than the rest, based off the way their hips and mouths slot together, "Ponyboy was walking them out. Where were you?"

"Dancing. The bride really fight her sister?"

"Damn," Izzy says, and feels a spike of embarrassment go through her. She doubts Vicky wants this night to be centered around getting a licking. "You gathered that much, huh?"

"There's a couple'a folks here who speak English," Soda says, and then, like he can't help sharing his secret, "their uncle told me."

"You talked to their _uncle_?"

"Yes'm," he says, and flashes a grin at her incredulous expression. "Nice guy."

"Soda," she says, voice going hushed, "don't you know what he—"

"Yes I do," he says, enunciating each word, and spins them in a tight circle just to get her riled up, smirking as he watches her splutter. "Works with your man. Ex-man. Steady?"

"It ain't funny," she says, scowling, and then purses her lips. Soda watches her, curious. She says, "Vicky said some shit about Steve," and Soda's expression goes blank. She hates that she jumps to defending her: "I don't think she meant it."

"What she say?"

"Soda." She remembers, vaguely, what Steve and Lisa were like, the summer after the latter's freshman year of college. Steve had been back a few months by then, more stoic than usual, none of the dry humor he held before it all went to shit. Lisa wasn't enough to fix him. That was something he had to decide on himself, and clearly he has, if that little girl they've got means anything, but the memory chafes. Vicky bringing it up is uncalled for. Izzy says, with more conviction this time, "She didn't mean it."

"What she say?"

Izzy tightens her hold on him. "Said he was a burnout." In her arms, Soda goes stiff. "Lisa got her good. Was crying when I seen her last."

Soda doesn't say anything at first, his expression enough all by itself. Finally he says, "Lisa did everything for her."

"I know."

"Do you?" He doesn't sound mean. Just curious. "I met her steady, once or twice. The dead one."

Izzy's heard the rumors. Some _Tejano_ dead on her orders. Lisa's not dumb enough to do that—she would have done it herself. Even if the rumor after that, her stealing some other girl's man, was about as catty as any that passed through the halls, it ended up being true. She doesn't see any of that in how Lisa and Steve look at each other though. She says as much.

Soda says, "Steve's the love of her goddamn life. And the feeling's real mutual. That's nobody's business but theirs."

"Vicky don't like Steve, then?" That would be news to her. Then again, Vicky's been living down here well over a year. That's long enough to change anything.

"She don't like nobody," Soda says, and she hates that it sounds true, "least of all herself."

Izzy swallows. Says, her voice small, "You think we coulda stopped it?" It meaning the wedding. It meaning Vicky leaving town. It meaning whatever the hell's happened to her in the last few years, things that Izzy missed despite being by her side for a lot of it. The guilt could swallow her up.

"Nah," he says, aiming for soothing but missing the mark, "ain't you say it already? She does whatever she wants. Maybe she'll come around."

"And if she don't?"

"You can't fix her," he says, "C'mon, now. The night's still young," he says, his smile almost enough for Izzy to believe him.


End file.
